


just before the walls come down

by cascrane (thunder_and_stars)



Series: a dream deferred [1]
Category: no sleep in the city of dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunder_and_stars/pseuds/cascrane
Summary: there is a seam in the space around him, a faint groove underneath his fingertips. copper-gold filaments curl around his fingers, sparks buzzing and spewing out. warmth floods through him, and his fingers burn.he curls them further into the seam. the darkness dissipates from within the golden rectangle, and he steps through.his feet hit the cracked pavement of the city sidewalk. the sound around him distorts, underwater and far away, though he can still make out a siren in the distance, the hum of the bus that drives past.
Series: a dream deferred [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105190





	just before the walls come down

aydan loren is standing alone in the darkness. this is only odd because he is not with his sister. he is always with his sister.

aydan is well accustomed to the inky dark that swells around him, impossible to see but fluid and evermoving. the cold claws at his lungs as he takes a cautious step. gold lines burn into the space in front of him. it is the size and shape of a door, and he presses his fingers against one of the lines.

there is a seam in the space around him, a faint groove underneath his fingertips. copper-gold filaments curl around his fingers, sparks buzzing and spewing out. warmth floods through him, and his fingers burn.

he curls them further into the seam. the darkness dissipates from within the golden rectangle, and he steps through. 

his feet hit the cracked pavement of the city sidewalk. the sound around him distorts, underwater and far away, though he can still make out a siren in the distance, the hum of the bus that drives past.

it is late in the evening, greying light quickly fading away. rain pours down overhead. he can feel it, beating a steady pattern against his skin, but his clothes are still dry. 

the street light beside him flickers on. there is a boy standing there, clad in black clothes plastered to his skin by the rain, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. a bright blue baseball cap sits atop his head, water drip-drip-dripping off the brim.

the boy is waiting to cross the street. the stoplight is stuck in time, all three colors illuminated in the damp haze.

aydan takes a step onto the stripes of the crosswalk. he can hear cars rushing past, but there are none there. there is nothing except an echo of a taxi sign. he’s grown used to the twisting, shifting, split worlds and superimposed realities, far more familiar than he strictly appreciates. 

the boy with the blue cap follows aydan across the street. the boy’s eyes are grey, with glowing gold ringed around the irises. the faded image of a girl walks beside him, a girl who looks just like he does. aydan blinks, and the ghost of a girl is gone.

the boy with the blue cap and the gold eyes stares through aydan’s chest, looking at something aydan cannot see. he turns carefully -- his sister’s always yelled at him about not being careful, the hypocrite she is -- and sees nothing but a brick building and an empty bus station.

the boy is younger than aydan, probably thirteen, and he has a haunted look in his eyes. when aydan blinks, he seems to flicker, and aydan sees a taller version of him, a young man with the same cap, and then fades back into the boy.

the boy with the blue cap sits on the bench. a child is there now, hewn of swirling shadows and vines, and the child looks up at the boy. the boy takes the child’s hand, stands from his seat, and walks out of the shelter of the bus stop, back into the rain.

the world dissolves around aydan, shifting into a new scene.

he stands in a clearing in a grove of trees. the man is there, blue hat and grey eyes. there is no more gold. a teenager stands beside the man, dark hair spilling down to their shoulders, bright green eyes darting around carefully. 

the teenager with the green eyes stares at aydan, and opens their mouth to speak.

“find the path,” a hollow, echoing voice booms from all around. leaves spill from the teenager’s mouth as the ground rattles beneath them.

the man with the blue cap presses something into aydan’s hand. 

“go,” he says, voice strained and insisting. his voice shifts into one aydan has heard before. “find us.”

aydan curls his fingers around the small object in his palm, and he runs. the trees rush towards him, boughs sweeping down to catch him, and he tumbles into darkness.

this time, when he opens his eyes, the world is not black around him. he stands on the brooklyn bridge. it is the middle of the night, the bridge empty of all other pedestrians.

he pries his fingers open, grimacing at the effort it takes. 

a glowing golden coin rests in his left palm. it looks almost like a subway token, he thinks, for a second. the coin shifts, as everything else always does, and burns in his hand, red hot and cruel.

he drops the coin.

it falls, falls, falls, and splashes into the dark river far below. he can hear the noise it makes. as it sinks, the bridge cracks beneath him, and he falls after it.

he hits the water hard, the cold shocking through him. something latches onto his arm.

the coldness fades. he forces his eyes open. the cracking white paint on the ceiling of his apartment stares back at him from the darkness of his room.

his sister is hanging off the guardrail of his bed, fingers wrapped around his arm.

“are you okay?”

he shrugs, absently rubbing his palm with his thumb. he blinks up at the ceiling, grounding himself in his sister’s presence in the darkness.

“aydan?”

“yeah, nya, i’m fine. what time is it?”

she pulls a phone from somewhere he can’t see. the bright screen illuminates her face in faint blue light. 

“about three,” she says. they’re both whispering, revelling in the late night quiet that still refuses to be silence.

“go back to sleep, nya.”

she nods, releases his arm, and flops back onto her bunk, underneath his. she lets out a faint sigh that he barely catches.

this isn’t new. she wakes up to him caught in the thrall of a weird, shifting, dream-nightmare at least three times a week. his head throbs. the couple hours of sleep he managed to get made him nowhere near less tired.

the images of gold eyes and bright leaves and the blue baseball cap dance before his eyes. he sits in the darkness until he is confident nya is asleep, then slinks down to the floor, socked feet silent on the carpet.

their mother is asleep in her bed, tucked in a little curtained-off section behind the couch in the too-small living room of their too-small, one bedroom apartment. she works late shifts, and aydan and nya rarely spend time with her anymore. they’re old enough to handle themselves.

he is careful not to disturb her as he pads into the kitchen to get water. he blinks back the harsh light from the fridge as he opens it, and notices that he is still rubbing at his left hand.

in the too-bright light, he can see a perfect circle of raw skin on his palm, a y sliced through the middle. he closes his eyes, curls his fists shut, and leans his head against the wall, trying to ignore the phantom sensation of a plastic band around his wrist.

he takes a deep breath -- 3, 4, 7, counting carefully, just like they taught him -- and presses his palms against the countertop. he holds his hands in the light and studies them.

there is nothing on his palms.

the light burns into his eyes, and images flicker across his eyelids as he closes them, the same two people, the teenager with bright green eyes and indigo hair, and the man with the blue hat and gold ringing grey irises.

something flickers again, and their eyes are replaced by pure darkness, black dripping over and spilling down their faces like tears. the teenager is gone, and the man stands there, eyes of hollow liquid darkness, and he seems to stare into aydan’s very being, cold and menacing. 

“danger comes,” a voice like wind whistles, distant and faint. “be  _ ready _ .”

the man in front of him flickers again, like a bad projection, shuddering and changing, until aydan sees a man in a dark suit, eyes black and expression hard, then it changes back, back and forth, back and forth, until the two images seem transposed on one another.

then, it’s gone. aydan manages to open his eyes, and only then does he realize that he  _ couldn’t _ before, which isn’t a comforting piece of information.

something throbs in his chest, and he wonders briefly why, then decides it’s a futile effort. he fills a cup with water and closes the fridge. the light disappears with the closing door, and he stands in the almost-darkness that permeates through the city. (it’s never quite dark here, in this city of lights and sleeplessness, restless crowds and tired commuters.)

he drinks the water -- cold enough to shock him out of his strange, post-nightmare haze -- and places the cup in the sink in silence.

he stands in the dark for a little longer, leaning against the fridge, head tipped back until it meets the cold metal.  _ none of it is real _ .

except, his hand still burns, and he can feel the circle and the y carved across his skin.  _ none of it is real _ .

_ right? _


End file.
